


77

by LuckyWantsToKnow



Category: Wynonna Earp - Fandom
Genre: Cliffhangers, Coping Mechanisms, F/F, Loss, Tattoos, Unresolved storylines, WayHaught OTP, WynHaught brotp, canon adjacent but timelines are a little loose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 16:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17921978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyWantsToKnow/pseuds/LuckyWantsToKnow
Summary: Everybody has a different way of dealing with stress, loss, and unexpected change.I tend to try to be the type to roll with the punches, because someone’s always got it worse, and my personal head canon told me that Nicole would do the same.I saw the tattoos that Wynonna chose to get not as a self-destructive response to what she deals with day to day, but a reminder of what she’s conquered.It’s a big secret for Nicole to keep from Waverly, and that hurts a little bit, but their story is unfinished right now through no fault of their own, so who knows what that conversation would have looked like—will look like, when it comes.Let’s hope seasons four, and five, and hopefully beyond, will answer of of these questions for us, and start to heal them.Thank you @bootsncatz for your help with this.Finally, I’m posting this on my phone and all errors are my own.





	77

Waverly can chronicle twenty-eight separate instances of her sister acting weird, which for Wynonna has to be really out there. 

 

Each time Wynonna had come home from the city, wincing and hungry for something bloody and caloric, she’d had an excuse. “Long day, babygirl.” “I had to pretend to enjoy dancing to Digital Farm Animals for hours.” “The last one was hiding in an honest-to-god Charcuterie restaurant.” Waverly dismissed the signs, until she couldn’t any longer. 

 

“Did you get a tattoo?” she asks, plucking at the shoulder of Wynonna’s sheer, low-cut top. Wynonna pulls away in a hurry, shrugging her jacket around herself, busily pouring coffee into a travel mug. 

 

“What? No!” she scoffs, keeping her back to Waverly as she bustles around the Homestead’s tiny kitchen. 

 

Waverly blocks the way to the living room, crosses her arms over her chest. “Wynonna,” she warns, “I saw something there. Please tell me you didn’t get a drunk tattoo.” Her eyes widen. “Oh my god, it’s not someone’s  _ name _ is it?” 

 

Her things finally packed, Wynonna doesn’t have an excuse to avoid facing Waverly anymore, so she turns to her sister. With a shocked expression she points behind Waverly, her face a rictus of terror. “They’re not supposed to be able to come on our land!” she screams, and Waverly whips around to see what sort of terrible beast has invaded their sanctuary. 

 

Seeing nothing, she turns back--to catch the side door slamming shut behind her sister. She stamps her foot. “Damnit Wynonna,” she yells after her sister’s fleeing form. “This isn’t over.” 

 

After that it’s not difficult to find the tattoo. 

 

Waverly only feels a teensy bit guilty when she calls Nicole. “Baby,” she coos, knowing Nicole will pretty much do anything for her at just this one word, “I need to cover for Gus at Shorty’s for a bit. Do you think you could come hang with Wynonna? She’s been sort of...withdrawn lately. I don’t think she should be alone. But listen...don’t tell her I said anything. I don’t want to embarrass her.”

 

Waverly’s barely hung up the phone when Nicole’s cruiser is skidding up to the barn, and there she stands all warm-eyed and earnest, and it’s all Waverly can do to keep on track and ignore Nicole’s long fingers fiddling with the zipper of her jacket as she nods solemnly at Waverly, but with a tiny wink just for her. 

 

There’s something about being left alone with Nicole. Wynonna can’t help herself. No matter how many times she loses, she’s certain that one of these days she’ll win the drinking contest and earn back everything Nicole’s won from her. Tonight is no different. They’re halfway through the second bottle when Wynonna holds up a blurry finger and slurs out her surrender. 

 

“Goddamnit Haught onathesedays I’m gonna…”

 

“Yeah yeah, Earp, you keep tellin’ yourself that.”

 

That smug, cocky grin. No wonder Waverly fell for her so fast.

 

Waverly comes home a little after midnight to the exact scene she’d choreographed in her mind when she set this up. It’s a good thing they like each other, her sister and her girlfriend. It almost makes it too easy. Wynonna’s passed out fully clothed on the couch, but the blanket draped over her, and her bootless feet, can only be the result of Nicole’s constant thoughtfulness, even while completely inebriated.  Waverly can hear snoring coming from her room up the stairs, and she knows Nicole managed to drag herself to bed. 

 

Peacemaker’s on the coffee table and Waverly winces at the sliding scraping noise the table legs make as she pushes the furniture out of reach. Tentatively, because Wynonna is a light sleeper even when she’s blindingly drunk, Waverly peels back Wynonna’s shirt. She inhales quickly because the tattoo is there, as expected---but not just one. Her sister’s shoulder, from front to back, is a swirling mass of color. Waverly can make out at least three distinct tattoos, but they’re blended together so skillfully that they look like one work of art. 

 

Waverly allows her finger to trace the first one, trying to understand the theme. A fat, cartoonish sausage, music notes, and a wicked looking curved fish hook, all surrounded by tiny stars. It would seem ridiculous if the work wasn’t so good. But that’s not all. Waverly pulls the shirt down further, just catching the top of a fanned out hand of cards, the Jack of Spades prominent at the top, leading into-- 

 

“Waverly? Whatcha doin’, babygirl,” Wynonna slurs, slapping feebly at her sister’s hand, and Waverly jumps back, guilty. She pulls the blanket snug around Wynonna’s throat and pats it gently. 

 

“Nothing sis,” she whispers, “go back to sleep.” 

 

Even spooned around Nicole, Waverly lies awake. If Wynonna wants a tattoo, Waverly’s certainly not going to judge her...to stop her. Why wouldn’t her sister tell her about them? What do they mean? She tosses and turns, until eventually the movement disturbs Nicole enough for her to wrap her long form around Waverly. Nicole’s arm across Waverly’s chest is akin to a weighted blanket and she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

 

There’s never a good time to talk about the tattoos, between make-out sex and make-up sex, widow bites and deals with demons, and holy shit but Wynonna’s good at deflecting. She almost asks about it when Wynonna disappears for a few hours after getting lost in the woods, all turned around in the snow. She comes home exhausted and shivering with a bandage encircling her forearm, and heads straight for the shower, dropping clothes all the way, and Waverly’s gonna push the issue, but suddenly Nicole’s pressed against her back with her lips on Waverly’s neck and the promise of a few minutes alone and well, she forgets.

 

“Do you have any tattoos?” Waverly asks into the darkness, and she can feel chuckling through the ear pressed warm to Nicole’s stomach. “Baby,” Nicole’s voice floats to her, sweet like honeysuckle on a summer night, “you’ve seen all of me. Do you see any tattoos?”

 

“I mean, maybe my eyes were closed,” Waverly jokes, rolling her face down to smell Nicole’s skin, all vanilla-dipped sex-warm home, and takes a tiny bite. Nicole’s stomach muscles jump and her hand lands soft on the back of Waverly’s head, sliding down to gather up long hair in a twist, fingers encircling the nape of Waverly’s neck. 

 

“I don’t have any tattoos,” she answers, the fingers of her other hand drawing slow hearts on Waverly’s bare shoulder. “Why do you ask? Are you thinking about getting one?”

 

Waverly considers the questions. Maybe sometimes she wants something different, like a nose piercing or to dye her hair, but something permanent like a tattoo? Can she commit to  _ anything _ that decisively? 

 

“Babe?” Nicole’s voice pulls her back out of her thoughts, and Waverly shakes her head. 

 

“No, I don’t want one. But Wynonna’s got a few...several actually. Like I think she might be sleeving her entire arm, and she’s never told me.” 

 

There’s silence in the heavy velvet darkness of her room, and Waverly starts to drift to sleep. It’s not like she needed to talk to Nicole about the tattoos, she just likes to talk to Nicole, period. Just as a dream is starting to coalesce she feels the words vibrating out of Nicole before they hit Waverly’s ear. 

 

“Have you ever asked her?”

 

“Hmm?” Waverly asks, sleepily.

 

“About the tattoos. Have you ever asked?” And there’s the slightest hesitation in Nicole’s voice-- almost a prompting, but Waverly’s just so tired.

 

“She’d tell me if she wanted me to know,” Waverly sighs out. “Can we sleep now, Nicole, please?” 

 

And Nicole gathers her up until everything is right, and she thinks about secrets, and she sleeps. 

 

When Dolls dies they all mourn him in their own way, with fire and whiskey and shots fired into the darkness. Wynonna gets a little out of control, and Waverly falls a little more in love with Nicole when she leads Wynonna into the house with an arm around the shoulders. She and Jeremy pass a bottle of Fireball whiskey, which Jeremy had brought with him because “it just made sense” and it’s not much later when she sees Nicole looking at her through the kitchen window, washing her hands at the sink. Then she’s back out to the fire and Waverly steals the soft purple beanie off her head and snuggles close, and the fur around Nicole’s hood tickles her nose, and she allows herself to cry a little too. 

 

The next day Wynonna sits gingerly upright in the kitchen and asks for Ibuprofin, which Waverly provides with water and a soft stroke along her sister’s cheek. She’s surprised to see Wynonna dressed and ready so early, to be honest, even her fringed leather coat is on. Waverly fries her a couple of eggs and makes some toast, and she’s glad when Wynonna eats it, but she’s worried when she pushes out of the chair and shoves out the door, her motorcycle roaring down the road before Waverly can even think to intervene. 

 

“You have to let her mourn her own way, baby,” comes Nicole’s soft voice from the kitchen entryway, and Waverly sends her a hard stare at first, because Wynonna is her sister and shouldn’t she know best? But she softens almost immediately when Nicole moves to her and takes her in her arms, because Nicole’s right. “You’re always right about what people need, somehow,” Waverly breathes, and she loves her for taking the time to figure out what Wynonna needs too. 

 

“What about you, though?” Waverly asks, looking up at Nicole. Nicole looks away, but not before Waverly catches the tiny tear before her girlfriend can swipe at her eyes, and then Nicole’s looking at her with the softest, most pained brown eyes. 

 

“I just need for my family to be safe,” Nicole says, and Waverly nods, holding Nicole tighter, pressing a promise into her chest. 

 

“I’ll be with you baby, through all of this, no secrets. Never forget that.” 

 

“No secrets,” Nicole nods, but something’s heavy in her eyes.

 

There are Revenants at the construction site, and Shorty’s, and in the woods around Purgatory. Revenants rebuild an old abandoned roadhouse outside of town and start selling steak dinners, but the meat is of a suspicious origin, and Wynonna dispatches all of them. She taken to wearing long sleeved shirts even inside the house, even to sleep in. Waverly’s just about to talk to her about it when their mother somehow arrives home, from the insane asylum Waverly didn’t even know about, and some bitch named Jolene comes to fuck everything up, and secret tattoos are the least of Waverly’s worries. 

 

And through all of it, Nicole is Waverly’s rock, even when...just briefly, Waverly has to be Nicole’s. And better than that, Nicole is Wynonna’s too, somehow.  _ How did I get so goddamn luck _ y is all Waverly can think. 

 

Wynonna’s out on the porch yelling at Doc because surprise, he’s a vampire. Sure, there’s a bit of a scare when the ghost of a teenaged witch takes over Nicole’s body, and this Revenant’s radioactive looking arm can be controlled by Waverly’s mind or some shit. But later they get a good laugh about that, at least, when Jeremy flinches away from outright saying he saw Nicole’s breasts, and of course the laughter is desperate and sad, because when isn’t it? 

 

But Jesus Christ, things really can get weirder, because what the fuck? Mercedes got her face back but now she’s dating Bulshar? “Things got weird alright,” Wynonna laughs maniacally when Bobo got out of the well, but she polishes Peacemaker and wades into the fray, and life as Waverly knows it, goes on. 

 

There are glimpses, Waverly catches them, dark lines and swirls peek out of the cuffs of Wynonna’s leather jacket, but they’re in too deep now. There are Revenants to kill, sure, but there’s Bulshar who’s the real problem, and Wynonna feels like she’s going to lose all of them--it’s too hard to protect just Waverly. Especially when Waverly’s learned the truth, and now she has secrets of her own to keep. She’s breaking every promise she ever made to Nicole when she tells her nothing’s wrong, the stairs in the woods laying heavy on her mind. 

 

“You really would do anything for Waverly, wouldn’t you?” Wynonna asks with a sad smirk, and Nicole only has to think for a minute before she nods. “Even get a blazing phoenix tattoo all up your butt?” Nicole acquiesces with a rueful grin. 

 

“Yeah, if that’s what she really wanted in her beautiful heart.” 

 

Wynonna considers Nicole. “I get why you don’t need tattoos,” she says, finally. “Your heart is right there on your sleeve already.”

 

But shit goes bad, as it is wont to do in spite of Wynonna’s best efforts. Some goddamn vine drags Waverly away, behind a forcefield that Wynonna can’t penetrate, and she doesn’t know what the fuck to do. 

 

“So Waverly’s gone?” Nicole asks, staring at Wynonna who stands stubborn and guilty on her front porch. Only her white knuckles clutching the doorframe betray any panic, she’s already a step ahead, assessing what needs to be fixed. 

 

“I’m sorry about the roofies in your drink,” Wynonna tells Nicole dully, the shock of the day not yet worn off. Nicole rubs at a bruise above her eye that she’d acquired when her head hit the table. She scowls at Wynonna, sadness and fatigue etching a bold line between her eyebrows, but moves out of the way so Wynonna can come in, grabs her gear and lays it out all the same. 

 

“I have a plan for all this. I just need--”

 

“Take off your shit, let me see what I’m working with here,” Nicole orders, her voice harsher than she intended it to be. Wynonna removes her leather jacket and slips her crimson long sleeved shirt over her head, tossing it unceremoniously onto the floor, leaving herself only in a bra. She unbuttons her jeans and lets them fall, pushing her underwear down too, then stretches out on the massage table that Nicole has set up in her living room. 

 

Nicole takes in her back, awash in color and bold lines. A perfect mechanical steer graces one shoulder, dotted lines across the hide indicating the cuts of beef like a poster in a butcher shop. Here’s two beer bottles connected at the necks with handcuffs on a chain, and there an angel in silhouette, wings spread wide. A dragon spirals up Wynonna’s side breathing fire down the underside of her right arm, and a tiny winged Snitch flutters over her bicep. On the other shoulder, a perfect red drawing of wax teeth, like the ones you get at Halloween that make children into bloodsuckers, complete with little red droplets descending down Wynonna’s arm. A headless horseman gallops across her lower back, but this time the rider is female, in a fitted suit, and the pumpkin in her hand has black soulless eyes. The cupcake on her left forearm is almost too cute, perfect blue frosting and a cherry on top, but upon closer inspection, the sprinkles are tiny pill capsules. Wrapping the other arm from elbow to wrist, Aphrodite cups a pale breast, behind mighty Athena brandishing her spear.

 

In between them all, filling the empty space, numbers—wood-cuts and typewriter keys, roman numerals and slash marks in groups of five, tumbling deliberately over skin.

 

“She always wanted to ask you about them,” Nicole says softly, and Wynonna tenses below her. She pushes up on her elbows and looks hard at Nicole. 

 

“She still can. She will. Now shut the fuck up about ‘wanted to’ and get started.”

 

Nicole lets out a sigh that’s almost a sob, then slides on a pair of gloves. She swipes disinfectant across Wynonna’s ass-cheek, then dips her tattoo gun into one of the tiny ink pots she’s laid out across the counter. 

 

“One flaming phoenix, coming right up.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Everybody has a different way of dealing with stress, loss, and unexpected change.  
> I tend to try to be the type to roll with the punches, because someone’s always got it worse, and my personal head canon told me that Nicole would do the same.  
> I saw the tattoos that Wynonna chose to get not as a self-destructive response to what she deals with day to day, but a reminder of what she’s conquered.   
> It’s a big secret for Nicole to keep from Waverly, and that hurts a little bit, but their story is unfinished right now through no fault of their own, so who knows what that conversation would have looked like—will look like, when it comes.   
> Let’s hope seasons four, and five, and hopefully beyond, will answer of of these questions for us, and start to heal them.  
> Thank you @bootsncatz for your help with this. 
> 
> Finally, I’m posting this on my phone and all errors are my own.


End file.
